


Death: To Sail Beyond The Sunset

by FayJay



Series: Endless Days [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean, The Sandman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-04
Updated: 2009-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayJay/pseuds/FayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which James Norrington encounters a beautiful woman, and contemplates his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death: To Sail Beyond The Sunset

As he feels the shock of a blade thrusting deep into the his flesh, slicing through skin and meat and membranes and doing damage from which there can be no recovery, James Norrington is torn between disappointment and relief. He dies setting free a parcel of cutthroats, knowing with a sick sense of despair that these men are unrepentant murderers and thieves. Knowing they will go back into the world to steal money honest men have toiled for, to slit their throats and dishonour their daughters – and that each outrage, each injury, each death will be his responsibility. He does not harbour any romantic ideals about pirates; it would have been difficult to live with himself after this.

He does it anyway, for her.

He had told Elizabeth that he was choosing a side, but the truth of the matter is that there is no side to choose. He has been a pirate, wallowing in despair and self-contempt, and he cannot return to that life. There is no honour in it. But it seems that neither is their honour left in His Majesty's Navy, when trade dictates policy. When honest sailors must side with creatures out of some dark, heathen nightmare in order to rule the waves.

When Lord Beckett can send a good man to his death, and lie about it to one's face.

There is no place left for James Norrington in this world. No honourable path. And so he welcomes death, though he regrets the ignominy of this ending. He might have hoped for a little more dignity – but perhaps death is always undignified, in the end.

He dies with the warmth of her mouth still on his lips; and though he feels a dull sting of shame at taking such a liberty, at being that much a pirate, still he knows that Elizabeth will not begrudge it. She has no qualms about plundering, and she has made it perfectly clear that she can defend her own honour. Elizabeth Swann never had much patience for propriety.

The face of Davey Jones wavers before him, rank salt stink of rotten fish and brine heavy on the air.

"Do you fear death?"

He can feel his strength ebbing. Fear death? He thrusts his blade home. It is Will Turner's sword, crafted with skill and passion two lifetimes ago by a courteous young man who was content to let his master take the credit for his own fine work, and it has lain like a silent reproach in his hand ever since Lord Beckett returned it to him. Although his eyesight is fading now, still he knows that the wound he makes is deep.

Oblivion is a blessing.

 

* * *

 

"You didn't get him."

James Norrington turns towards the voice, puzzled by its profound familiarity. He has never seen this woman before in his life. And yet…and yet…

"Do I know you?"

She smiles, and he finds himself smiling in return. It would be impossible not to. "In a manner of speaking," she says. Her hair is as dark and glossy as a Spaniard's, ringlets tumbling down over skin of quite astonishing pallor. Port Royal has not seen the like of her, clad in acres of delicately embroidered silk, black on black, smiling with a frankness that ill becomes a lady - and yet despite the unladylike paint that rings her eyes and darkens her mouth, there is nothing salacious or improper in her bearing. It is a sister's smile, or a mother's, or a wife's. Something startlingly intimate and knowing, and yet – friendly. Affectionate, rather than flirtatious. She is quite the most remarkable creature he has ever seen, and the scent that hangs about her is something strange and subtle, something that takes him back to the earliest days of childhood and makes him feel cherished and safe.

A moment later he looks about him, leafing through memories and trying to understand when and where he finds himself. They are on the open water, in a small boat drifting with the tide. Overhead the sky is spangled with stars, an endless banner unfurled in the heavens. There is a small lamp sitting between them. He cannot recall coming to this place, where the ink-black water laps their prow so softly, and the air does not smell of salt. "This is – where is this?"

"You're dead, James." Her voice is kind and matter-of-fact as she delivers this information. "This is what happens next." He stares. He did not expect angels to look like this – although in truth he has no great confidence that he will merit the company of angels in the next life. But surely she is no demon, with her bright, ingenuous smile. "Or at least, this is the way you get there," she amends, glancing around them. Her expression becomes apologetic. "It might take a little while. We've had a slight...interruption of service." She shrugs, and the shadow of her collarbone shifts daintily. Something like a silver crucifix glints in the curve of her cleavage. "Honestly, you just can't get the staff these days."

He has absolutely no idea what she can mean by this, and she has just told him that he is dead – which he believes – but there is something so irresistible in her smile that James Norrington finds himself laughing along with her. "I'm dead," he says, trying out the words. He laughs harder. "And you can't get the staff." They both laugh for a long time, and when at last he can speak again, his heart feels lighter – as it did during the endless summers when he was a boy. He cannot remember the last time that he felt so carefree. At last he catches his breath again, and smiles across at her. "You said I didn't get him. What did you mean?"

"Davey Jones. The dead man's chest is hollow, remember? You tried to stab him, but he can't be killed that way."

"Oh. Of course." He feels a little embarrassed. He knew that. He had not been at his most calm and reflective, perhaps, as he felt his blood soaking into the deck of The Dutchman. A thought strikes him, one outrageous enough to be true. "Are you - are you Death?" She nods, and her smile warms him through to the core. He considers this calmly. He had not feared her, but neither had he expected to like her. "So what now?"

"Now you can relax for a little, James. If that's what you want."

Is it? He thinks it might be. It sounds wonderful. Although..."Could I have done other than I did?" he asks her, surprising himself. He feels a sudden urgency and leans forwards. "Was there a point, a moment when things might have unfolded differently? Had we not pursued Sparrow into the teeth of the gale...or if I had paid heed to the Governor's request, and not allowed Gibbs to fill Elizabeth's head with stories of pirates...had I shot Jack Sparrow on the day that he pulled her from the sea, before ever...or perhaps...was there a moment?" He is not sure what he is asking, exactly – only that once his world had been cleaner and simpler. Once he had known that no good men were pirates, and no pirates were good men. Now his world includes William Turner, whom he knows to care nothing for plunder, and Elizabeth Swann, who chooses the company of criminals over that of honest men. Now his world includes Jack Sparrow and Lord Beckett, and he cannot tell which one is worse. He misses the old days.

She wags her finger at him. "This kind of thinking won't do you a bit of good, you know. Of course there was a moment – a million moments leading you here. But this is how it turned out, James. This is what you did. Don't go crying over spilt milk." She studies him for a moment, then rummages in her reticule and produces a small package wrapped in some strange, shiny paper. She hands it to him. He turns it over and over in his hands, puzzled by the slick surface of the material and looking in vain for an opening. She makes a tsking sound and plucks it out of his fingers, then tears at the jagged edge with ruthless efficiency. The strange skin splits open and reveals something solid and dark, which she breaks in her fingers, lifts to his obedient mouth and drops onto his tongue.

It tastes extraordinary.

She snaps off a cube for herself, and they sit and chew companionably for a long moment.

"What is that?" he asks, when the last lingering traces have finally left his tongue. "Is it ambrosia?"

She laughs. "Well, you've got a healthy ego! You're not a god, James – although a surprising number of people are, as it happens. But anyway, Ambrosia was definitely overrated." She lifts up the little package. "This is Swiss chocolate, and it's one of the perks of being dead, because it won't be made for years and years and years. The company doesn't even exist yet." She glances around them at the empty waters, then drops the package into his lap. "Keep it," she says, pulling a face. "You might be floating for a while yet, I'm afraid." She looks at him speculatively. "That is – unless you want to go back?"

He replays the words in his mind, but they still make no sense. "Go back?" He thinks of the walking corpses from Barbossa's ship and shudders. "What do you mean?"

As he studies her face he is reminded of the dark smudges around Jack Sparrow's eyes. "Well, you died aboard The Flying Dutchman, James. What's more, you sacrificed yourself for love. That makes matters a little... complicated. Potentially. If you want them to be." She bites her lip and her brow crumples. He wonders for a moment how old she is; her skin is as unlined as a girl's, but there is something about her that feels ancient and ageless. Then he reminds himself of who she is, and feels a trace of embarrassment. "The Dutchman isn't entirely in the world, you see. You might find that – well. We'll wait and see, shall we?"

"I have nothing to go back to," he says, heavily. "There is no longer any honourable purpose I might serve."

"We'll wait and see." When she smiles, dimples quiver at the corner of her mouth. "You, my dear, have just the faintest touch of Destiny about you."


End file.
